Business as Usual, XXI
by Laura Bryannan

The news cast a pall over Mugen's evening, pulling his focus away from the present and into the worrisome future. So while he appreciated Yuki's lusty ministrations and it was delicious to plow into the licorice-flavored body once again, parts of him just weren't paying attention.

In the morning he'd needed to get laid enough to let Jin do it even with Yuki there watching. Jin's cock was as electrifying as always, his mouth just as succulent, but the shadow remained on his heart. Something besides the obvious was bothering him about this trip but he couldn't get a grasp on it, making him feel strangely protective and unwilling to leave Jin behind. Finally, the lingering goodbye kiss had to end, the cab took Jin and Yuki downtown, and it was time to get his act together before the limo showed up.

Yuki was crazy excited at the airport, but managed to maintain, and was probably better company than Jin would have been on the long dull flight. They got drunk and flirted with the flight attendants and the older businesswoman who was their across the aisle companion in first class. The plane had flown in from Hawaii, and it turned out that the businesswoman and most of the flight attendants were American.

Mugen was surprised that Yuki's English wasn't much better than his, but the women were charmed at their attempts at conversation, which became increasingly faltering as the alcohol was consumed. That each man seemed modest and unaware of his striking appearance—the handsome, long haired one in a classic blue shirt and khakis, and the mysterious, spiky haired one in black—only added to their appeal.

Perhaps it was because each woman was genuinely appreciated, the flattery offered observant and sincere, that Mugen and Yuki found themselves plied with treats, drinks and attention. They were having too much fun to get off the plane during the layover in Hawaii and thus were passed out during the layover in LA, but it was all good. Mugen didn't wake up until it was almost time to land, feeling like shit the way he always did after such a long flight, but he'd had a blast and the time passed by much quicker than usual.

They left Tokyo at 4pm on Sunday afternoon and, because of the vagaries of traveling so far around the world, the fifteen hour flight arrived at Kennedy International Airport at 5pm Sunday afternoon! It was a fine, bright September day in New York, not that they noticed. Cabbing to the hotel, they nested in the fine room and pampered their jet-lagged selves, only crawling out later to find something to eat. Yuki wanted to go to Greenwich Village but Mugen dragged him to alphabet city instead.

“The east side is less touristy,” he explained. “I'll take you to one of the few places you can get a real margarita.”

Happily scarfing the great Mexican food and on his way to getting sloshed again, Yuki's curiosity finally got the better of him. “So, Mugen, I have to ask. Why are you here? What's this meeting about?”

Mugen growled, the topic being a touchy one. He hated this part of his job, even though he loved visiting the cities it brought him to. “Um...Okinawa Development offers a few investment forecasting newsletters and it just so happens that the one based on my models sells the best. Since the subscriptions are insanely expensive, Okuru-san thinks it's smart to make me available for questions when requested, so here I am.”

“Wow! I'm impressed.”

“Yeah? Well, don't be.”

He remembered the first time Okuru-san asked him to do it.

“But I don't know why the models work,” he'd protested. “How can I talk about them?”

“It doesn't matter why they work, only that they do,” his boss had assured him. “You can be completely honest about that. It will simply add to the mystique.”

Mugen didn't understand it, but Okuru-san was right. The people who asked to meet him were in awe of his skills and always behaved differentially, which only served to make him feel even more of a fraud. But the subscriptions sold, every time, so he got sent out more and more. If anyone had told him five years ago he'd be considered a financial guru by folks with money to throw around he'd have pissed himself laughing, but financial guru he was, and a wealthy one at that.

After dinner Yuki was raring to go, but Mugen felt mopey and uninterested in partying, so he sent his lover off into the wilds of Manhattan alone. “Any cabbie in town knows where the Plaza is and that's where we're staying. You got money?” Yuki assured him he did, and they parted ways. It was only ten-thirty, but Mugen headed back to their room, although he sat outside and smoked a few first, watching the world go by on 58th street.

He wanted to call Jin, but ignored the feeling. Every time he tried to imagine a conversation he got stuck. They only spoke on the phone to make or confirm plans to meet, it wasn't like they ever sat and chatted, so it seemed weeniefied to just call him. It took a handful of bottles from the mini bar before the yearning stopped completely, however, mainly because he passed out in front of the TV.

He awoke at 4am and couldn't get back to sleep, uptight about his meeting and positively aching for Jin. Pacing and fretting for an hour, he did a quick calculation...7pm in Okinawa, Jin should be home from work. He placed the call, face hot, heart pounding, and was rewarded with his lover's deep voice.

“Mugen! It's nice to hear from you. How was your meeting?”

“It hasn't happened yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“We got here the same day we left. It's 5am and the meeting is this afternoon.”

“Ah, that's right,” Jin chuckled. “I forgot about all the time zone changes. Is Yuki behaving himself?”

“He's great,” Mugen assured him, “but he's been out all night and still not back, so maybe he's found some ways to misbehave...heh, heh!”

“Hmmm.”

“I wish you coulda come with me this time.”

“Me too. When do you return?”

“Our flight leaves at seven, which means we'll be in Okinawa around midnight on Wednesday. It looks like we're gonna lose Tuesday.”

“That's hard for me to get my head around."

“Tell me about it.”

There was a long silence, not quite awkward, when Jin finally ventured, “I miss you.”

Mugen couldn't believe how he warmed to the words. It felt great. “I miss you too.”

“Pull it out,” the quiet voice ordered. Oooh, even more warmth. Mugen did as he was told, unzipping his pants and freeing his mostly hard self. “Let me hear you jack off.”

He closed his eyes and did it, and he could tell that Jin was doing it too by the ragged breathing and little gasps that escaped into the phone. It wasn't the same as holding the man in his arms, but it was damn well better than nothing, and it felt so sweet after feeling so alone he let it happen quickly. Jin released a few moments later, and Mugen was certain his name was whispered at the peak.

Basking together silently afterward, Mugen's heart was pulling him to speak, but everything that came to mind sounded lame. “You want me to bring you a souvenir?” he finally asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Just yourself,” came his lover's reply.

The grin erupted, along with the blush. He was speechless. “Uhhh, OK.”

“Happy trails, Space Cowboy.”

“Bye, Jin.”

------------------------------

Sunday evening was lovely. Jin was disappointed about missing the trip to New York, of course. But he turned off his phones, turned on the music and enjoyed his alone time immensely before going to bed content.

Ironically, he'd been doing fine on Monday until Mugen called. It was wonderful to hear from him, hot to play and very nice to learn that he and Yuki hadn't been fucking all night. But after he hung up the loneliness, and even a little jealousy, crept into his heart like an unwanted guest and refused to leave.

Tuesday was one of those days where nothing went right. His mood was morose, his clients seemed unreasonably demanding and an important vendor was complaining about an unpaid invoice. Yuki's filing system usually made sense, but he couldn't find the company check register and it made him supremely grumpy on top of everything else.

When Jin locked up at six-thirty, he discovered the cherry on top of his shitty day. Six guys, all hooded, heading toward him at a run. He struck without thinking, connecting with four bodies, but then there was pain and blackness.

He came to prone on the pavement, hands bound behind his back, glasses gone. Even with blurry vision he could tell they'd dragged him into the alley behind Takeda Delivery and despaired of anyone taking notice of his plight. Somone jerked him to his knees by his hair while the two left standing stood near, a switchblade clicked and his t-shirt was sliced down the front, cutting some skin in the process.

“So, my friend,” came an oily voice, “what's this I hear about you putting a hit on my men?” It took all of Jin's willpower to stifle his shudder, for he recognized the speaker. Shiren Natsu was Mukuro's first lieutenant and just as sociopathic, maybe more so.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jin replied, honestly.

“No? Perhaps this will help you remember.” The blade flashed and there was pain as his chest was cut. He went inward, refusing to respond, genuinely confused by the question.

“Still nothing?” Shiren continued. “It had to be you, for Hoho the Clown was indisposed if I remember correctly.” Another cut, more pain. Jin kept his eyes focused on the hooded face and resisted the overwhelming urge to look at his chest.

“Fuck off, Shiren,” he blustered, hoping that naming him would give the guy pause. It didn't. Nodding to his henchman, the blade sliced once more, causing Jin to hiss in spite of himself.

“Don't be modest, Takeda-san,” Shiren oozed. “Only you've got the skills to take out two men like that.” He looked down disdainfully at the three still groaning on the ground, struggling to get to their feet.

Someone took down two of their guys? Despite his pain and despair, Jin was amused. “You're so popular, Shiren.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was impossible. “Why lay this honor at my feet? Clearly anyone can take out your guys.” The beady eyes narrowed behind the ski mask, he jerked his head at his second and the blade flew again, three cuts, and Jin hoped he wouldn't puke from the pain.

Shiren pulled a wakazashi from under his jacket and unsheathed it, the metal glinting in the dimming light, causing Jin's guts to quake. He began a kata, going through the form threateningly near Jin's face, creating another line of blood along his neck. Understanding why people piss themselves with fear, Jin felt perilously close to it as his imagination assured him Shiren was going to try to cut his head off or, at the least, slit his throat.

Shouting in the distance disturbed his nightmare. “Shit!" the second yelled. "Hurry up, man. Someone's coming." Shiren swung the blade and Jin's head jerked backwards with the force of the blow. Whoever was holding his hair let go and he fell forward, finally crying out as he hit the pavement, unable to break his fall with his bound hands. They took off running, and Jin thanked all the gods in heaven that his head remained attached to his shoulders before the world went gray.

He lay there groaning, hurting too much to think or move, when a familiar voice entered his consciousness. “Holy shit! Jin! Jin, are you okay?” It was Tatsu, who helped him sit up and untied his hands, visibly blanching at all the blood. “Goddamn fuckers. Boy, it's a good thing I forgot my gym bag. C'mon, I got the car here, lemmie take you to the hospital.”

“No, I want to go home,” Jin told him. “Do you see my glasses anywhere?”

“Aw, man...home? I don't think so,” Tatsu insisted, looking around for the missing spectacles. “They cut you bad. At least come to the dojo so dad can fix you up.”

“No, Tatsu.”

“You gotta come with me, boss. Dad'll kill me if I let you go home like this.”

“He won't kill you if he doesn't know.” Tatsu fidgeted nervously, unsure what to do, eying Jin in a way that made him feel uncomfortable, as though there was an albatross on his head he didn't want to mention.

“Hey look, here they are!” he shouted, jumping up to bring Jin his glasses. The frames were twisted, but the lenses intact, and Jin almost laughed as he tried to bend them back into shape. He knew he was probably going into shock and should take Tatsu's advice, but his pride refused the gift.

“Just drive me home, please,” Jin requested. Tatsu sighed and helped him to his feet, but as he moved he realized something was very wrong. Reaching up to his hair, his stomach lurched and he fell to his knees. It was gone! The ponytail that reached almost to his waist was now a measly inch long. He looked up at Tatsu, who's face was tragic, confirming it wasn't a horrible dream.

“Damn Jin, I'm sorry. Your hair was bitchin'.”

“It will grow,” he said dully, standing up, emotionally flatlining. Tatsu kept his peace for the two block drive to his place, offering no further argument except his concerned expression as he exited the car, and he was grateful.

Jin drew a tub, soaked his aching muscles and washed off all the blood. They'd cut him a lot, but not deeply, so the wounds were garish but only superficial. Freed of the mess, he peered hesitantly at his chest, discovered the swastika cut there and felt heartsick. Thus shaken, it took a while longer before he could face the mirror. Finally, he steeled himself and glanced at what was left of his hair—a ragged, ridiculous pageboy cut by an insane barber. Even tied up it would look stupid.

It's vain to care, he scolded himself. Why should he let something so meaningless bother him?

But it did bother him. Horribly. And in the privacy of his lonely apartment, he wept.

------------------------------

Yuki finally stumbled in at seven-thirty, reeking of perfume and sporting a humongous hickey on his neck. He fell into bed with a groan.

“What happened to you?” Mugen asked, smirking.

“I got kicked out when she left for work.”

“She?” Mugen was surprised, not that Yuki had other lovers, of course, but that he batted for both teams.

“She was twenty-five and blond...all over.” He closed his eyes, smiling dreamily. And then, a few moments later, whispered, “As opposed to her roommate.”

“Say what?!?”

Yuki replied in Snore, a language Mugen didn't speak.

The meeting went well, which was a big relief, and there had even been time for a quickie before heading out to the airport. They made it through customs without a hassle, but the flight home was the opposite of the flight over, and downing a few didn't lift their spirits. Mugen remained anxious and Yuki muted, having partied way too much the night before. The return trip always seemed to take twice as long as the flight over, probably because, no matter how much fun Mugen had on his travels, he was always ready to be home again once all was said and done.

Mugen knew Jin was usually in bed by eleven, but he called the moment they got into Okinawa anyway, hoping against hope—even though it was after midnight—that his lover might be waiting up for him. Unfazed by Jin's answering machine, he had the cabbie drive by his building after dropping Yuki off, but the apartment was dark. Finally accepting defeat, Mugen headed home alone to have a restless night full of worrisome dreams.

He hadn't been at his desk ten minutes Wednesday morning when his cell rang. It was Yuki. “'Sup, kiddo?”

“Something happened last night,” Yuki whispered. “Jin was attacked.”

Mugen's blood ran cold. “Is he OK? What happened?”

“It was the Nakasones. Six of them. He won't say anything else. There's a cut on his neck, he's got a huge black eye and...oh, Mugen....” Yuki's voice was shaky and he took a deep breath. Mugen got very still, waiting. “They cut his hair.”

“Cut his hair?” Mugen couldn't picture it, couldn't believe it.

“He can barely tie it back now. It's so pathetic, I could cry.” Yuki paused a moment to collect himself, then continued. “Mugen, this hit him hard. He told the crew what I told you and then forbid us to say anymore about it. He's gone silent. I haven't seen him like this since we were kids.”

Mugen heard the request, but couldn't do anything until later. “He's been ignoring my calls all morning, and there's shit I gotta do here today,” he explained.

“I'm not surprised, I told you he's gone silent. You'll have to come get him after work. If he makes it to his place he'll hole up and that will be that.”

“I'll be there,” Mugen assured him. “Call me if he starts making moves to leave early.”

And so it was that Mugen was waiting across the street when Jin left the shop at 6:45. From the front you couldn't tell there was anything different about him, only the profile was altered, and Mugen felt such relief he laughed out loud. When Yuki told him they cut Jin's hair, for some reason he'd imagined they cut it off—completely—so he was practically ecstatic as he strode toward the tall, beautiful man he'd been craving for days.

Jin saw him coming, looking so anguished Mugen's heart lurched. His eyes flashed right and left as if looking for a way to escape, then his shoulders collapsed and he looked down, resigned. Mugen slid his palm along the bruised jaw, gently pulling the chin upward, forcing the troubled gray eyes to meet his. “Yuki told me,” he said.

“Yes...well, I look like a fool,” Jin spat, bitterly certain.

Mugen snorted. “Your hair ain't what makes you hot, stupidass.”

Jin blinked, mouth open, clearly at a loss for words. Mugen took advantage, pulling the stunned face to his and kissing it soundly, despite the fact that they were standing on the front steps of Takeda Delivery and anyone could see.

At first there was no response. Jin remained inert and it was like kissing a dead thing, but then a small whimper escaped and he began to kiss back. Mugen moaned in relief, gently teasing and coaxing the passive tongue, encouraging it to play. Finally the arms braced against him relaxed, Jin melted against his chest and returned his oral attentions with a desperate fervor that amazed him.

It was good. It was sweet. Mugen had missed this body very, very much, and would need to partake soon. Breaking their kiss, he asked, “Your place or mine?”

“I need to be alone tonight.”

“Nope, that's the last thing you need. I'll come to your place.”

“Uhhh...I don't know.”

“You wanna walk or should I call a cab?”

“Mugen, really I....”

Mugen grabbed an arm and pulled his reluctant lover into motion. “We'll walk,” he decided, and thankfully Jin stayed at his side as they headed down the street. The silence between them didn't feel right, Jin was still radiating way too much melancholy for Mugen's taste, but then a light bulb went off in his brain and he couldn't contain his chuckles.

“It's not fair that you gotta secret password and I don't,” he began, grinning wickedly. “I know! How about, 'Do me, Ishida'?”

“That's not funny.”

Mugen cleared his throat, shoulders still shaking with laughter. “So, will you do me?” He turned to Jin, pleased that the lost, forlorn expression was gone and the blessed frown was back in residence.

“Only if you never call me that name again!”

“But you could do your hair just like him now,” Mugen teased, rejoicing in Jin's growl. He knew he was goading but it was working, the lover he knew was still in there, thank god!

“Promise, Mugen, or no zanpakuto for you,” warned Jin, scowling, but with a smile in his voice. That he was playing along with the dumb joke was a good sign.

“I promise, Takeda Taicho,” Mugen intoned solemnly, cheering inwardly, genuflecting for good measure.

They made it to Jin's building in less than record time due to the makeout sessions required along the way, but finally the door shut behind them and Mugen had the object of his affections against the foyer wall. Deftly unzipping and reaching inside the tight jeans, he was burning with lust as the warm weapon sprang free of its constraints into his hand.

Forehead to forehead, eying each other with high appreciation, there was only one thing to say. “Bankai!”

to be continued

For those of you unfamiliar with Bleach, Ishida Uryuu is a character who looks like he could be Jin's short haired, younger brother. A zanpakuto is a sword, and “Bankai” is what the taicho (captains) in Bleach say to...erm...wake up their swords. It's a great manga/anime. Try it you'll like it!